


Highgarden Peaches

by cortchuzska



Series: Of suns and roses [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willas and Arianne on their way to Highgarden</p><p>“Don't be afraid, your father is not going to eat me alive.”</p><p>Her smile was sweet and her eyes gleamed warmly but she reminded him of her uncle Oberyn.</p><p>'You already ate him, and used his splintered bones to pick your teeth.' Willas thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highgarden Peaches

She tucked a lock behind his ear, and watched him. She was not pleased. A shaft of late afternoon sun, slanting through their tent slit, dappled with light his green and gold brocade doublet and silken velvet breeches.

Willas painfully acknowledged they were the problem. If tightly fitted, his game leg would look outrageously scrawny; if not, cloth sagged loose. The muscles on the other one he had grown swimming at the Water Gardens made things worse. No matter how grotesque he felt, he was the heir to Highgarden, and this was the only outfit he was allowed, at least in the Reach.

Arianne sat on his lap, or rather on his other leg, and said him “We must have a talk, before we marry.”

“We are already.”

“Not here in the Reach.”

Willas felt slightly uneasy about her. In the Reach they would call a whore what was a paramour in Dorne; and in Dorne, they were married.

“After our wedding, we'll share bedchamber; and you can't just slip out of them, not with such tight breeches.”

She pointed at his wounded leg. “I already caught some glimpses of it, and I think I can endure its full sight.”

He knew his wife – in the Reach, still his wife-to-be; their nuptial agreements were quite peculiar - was right. She'd better get used to watch it; worse still, he should get used to her watching it.

“Better now than later.” She helped him up then sat down, cross legged, on a carpet. He once peeked at her trying on a Westerosi gown that would show her bosom on a most alluring way, but as Dorne Princess she would keep her Dornish garments and take such flattering clothes only after their wedding.

She gazed at him quietly: obviously, she wasn't going to help. So he limped to the pavilion main pole, rested against it, and took off his dress. He throw off his doublet and shirt; fumbled with his breeches, but his boots were the worst part, and his leg was already mostly naked, till he found himself clinging at the pole, tired and aching. He stared down blankly at a rose shaped golden button.

“Look at me.” Arianne said and he raised his eyes under a sweat plastered curls curtain. “That was pretty bad, actually.”

While arising she added “My Lord Tyrell, have you ever heard 'the Dornishman's wife' ballad?”

“In the Reach people are a bit pruder but way less fierce, and I'm not from Dorne.” He smiled at her.

“But I am.” She lifted on tiptoe to hiss at his ear, cupping hands around Willas's jaws.

“And if here in the Reach or there in Dorne any pretty, silly wench looks at your bad leg”, she gazed sternly at him, “I'll gouge out her eyes with mine own hands, and if she fondles it”, she stooped slightly to do so, “I'll slice her fingers, one by one.” Arianne went on softly, counting on his own knuckles; then she knelt down, kissed the inner part of his thigh and ended huskily, “If she kisses your leg, I'll tear her tongue out of her mouth.”

“And will you lock me up in a tower, with a loaf of bread only and some water?” Willas teasingly asked her, while Arianne, twisting the curly hairs below his navel, slid her shoulder below his limp leg. “I could add some blood oranges, maybe Highgarden peaches.” She gave a quick squeeze at his balls. “That's more than your usual fare.” She headed South.

“I'm fine with that...” Willas ate sparingly, since the Tyrells had a tendency to plumpness, and he needed to stay thin because of his leg. “but I loathe high places.”

Arianne stopped her job for a moment, mustered all the dignity she could in the current position, and it wasn't much. “I mean it. It took me so long to bring you to trust me up to this point, and it will hurt me badly, if you let anyone else see you this way.”

“Not even the Sand Snakes?” Willas gasped, and Arianne glared, but couldn't reply: her mouth was full of him.


End file.
